


Worlds Apart

by inkfishie



Category: Trigun
Genre: Angst, Anime/Manga Fusion, Character Death, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Series Spoilers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkfishie/pseuds/inkfishie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of some of old Vash/Wolfwood ficlets and drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enough

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been re-reading Trigun lately, and on a whim decided to go dig for some of my old Trigun fic. Here are a few of the ones that survived the test of time that I've tweaked a bit to repost here. Dunno if I'll post any of the others, but seeing as I'm having a ton of Trigun feels atm, it might happen. These were all originally posted on media miner and AFF-Org sometime in 2005-2006 (LOL I AM OLD) Anyway, enjoy the angst fest. Nick and Vash are totally my originally angsty OTP lol

 

 

_Heaven_ bend _to take my hand and lead me through the fire_  
  
_Be the long awaited answer_  
  
_To a long and painful fight..._  
  
  
  
  
  
Cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air, weaving its way to the ceiling where it gathered and lingered in a thick, smoggy blanket. Through the window moonlight shone in from the three moons that orbited the planet Gunsmoke. The silvery light paired with the noxious smoke cloud gave the small hotel room an eerie sort of ambiance. The tension that lay like a trip wire did not help to improve upon the situation.

Vash knew, that Wolfwood knew, that he was awake. It was a game they had been playing for days now. It was a game that they were still playing.

 

_"Nicholas, kiss me..?"_

They had been drunk, Vash more so than his companion. But even so, the priest had grunted out an affirmative response and then he had complied. It had been a bruisingly sweet exchange, the softness of chapped lips paired with the nipping of teeth and heady desire. The girls had been asleep on the floor, the room just another nondescript place serving as "home" for the night. But in that moment it had been good, so good, and in the next... Well.  
  
_"Tongari. Sorry, I--"_ Sputtering, Wolfwood had broken away. And when Vash had extended a hand to touch his companion, dopey-eyed and confused, he had been met with a vicious snarl.  
  
_"Don't. J-just--Just don't!"_ Then Wolfwood was gone, having disappeared through the open door to the adjoining room.

 

  
But that had been days ago, and they'd not uttered a word about the incident since. Just business as usual, their smiles stretched just a little too wide; laughter just a bit _too_ cheerful. Meryl and Millie were none the wiser of course. It wasn't something that they needed to know.  
  
_Maybe he doesn't remember..?_  
  
No. If that had been the case then there wouldn’t have been all the tight, pensive looks between the two of them while they were alone. There wouldn’t have been the chain-smoking or the muffled, angry cursing. Wolfwood could be just as false as Vash himself, his smiles just as brittle. But the façade was generally something that fell away while in one another’s company. It was hard to keep a lie in place when the person you were with saw right through it.

But Vash was afraid. This silence between them, this game that they were playing, He was afraid of what would happen if he were to lose. There was more at stake here than either of them were letting on. Somehow the rules had changed without Vash’s knowledge. He sighed out quietly and quelled the urge to shift atop the lumpy mattress he was laying on.

The wall was starting to wear from his eyes boring in to it in the darkness.

Risking a glimpse over his shoulder, Vash turned toward Wolfood who was hovering at the window. His breath caught in his throat, stinging the corners of his eyes with prickly, unshed tears. Nicholas D. Wolfwood was absolutely stunning. Against the backdrop of silver light and smoke, Vash traced the silhouette of the priest's face with his eyes. From the troubled indent at the brow and down along the curve of that hawkish nose, then finally to the glowing stub a cigarette clamped between pursed lips.  
  
Something flip-flopped in Vash's stomach, the fluttering sensation tickling just beneath his breast bone. Whatever may have happened between them, whatever masks the priest had been wearing during the course of the day, they were now gone. It left the other man looking vulnerable, troubled and so very, very young.

Turning away, Vash clutched his blankets to his chest. The same ache that pulsed in his own chest shown on Wolfwood’s face. But there was nothing Vash could do. Nothing that he could say that wouldn't give the game away. To act was to bring out into the open something that was better left unsaid. Something far too dangerous to speak of given the borrowed time they were living on.

With all his heart Vash longed to say something, to speak up and break the silence between them; to shatter the pretense of the past several days. But he simply couldn’t find the courage to do so. And it _hurt_ , just as it had hurt to look at Nicholas and see that he too felt the same stinging pain.  
  
"Nick..."  
  
Clamping down on his lower lip, Vash curled further into himself, bedding clutched in balled fists to his chest. This was all he could do, this was the very best he could do. It hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt. Vash wanted, he _wanted_...  
  
The creak of bedsprings behind him brought Vash back to himself, and belatedly he realized that he must have been too obvious, too transparent. Panicked, he lay still, praying for something to happen; for nothing to happen. He wanted Wolfwood to stay as much as he wanted the other man to leave. There was a tug on the blankets as they were whisked upwards, and in the next moment there was a body huddled up against Vash's back. A naked arm draped itself over Vash’s chest and hauled him in closer. When a warm breath ghosted out along the nape of his neck, Vash found himself shuddering in response. The arm that held him tightened, and all at once Vash felt a ticklish lump forming in his throat.  
  
But words were not exchanged, Vash could not find them, and he knew Wolfwood did not have any. The dampness of the cheek pressed against his shoulder told Vash all he needed to know: Nicholas D. Wolfwood would be gone come morning. Whether or not it was just from his bed, Vash did not know.

Vash knew, that Wolfwood knew, that he was awake.

  
  
And perhaps for now, that was enough.


	2. Caramel

The moons were out, playing soft upon the exposed skin of Nicholas’ back. Vash supposed it could be very beautiful. If he were at all inclined to creating poetry out of the shadows that played over the dips and swells of sun-browned skin, he might’ve been able to describe it.   
  
Sun-browned, was it..?   
  
No, beneath his wandering fingertips the preacher’s skin was more like caramel. If Vash were inclined to making poetry, he would say Nicholas’ skin was the color of caramel. And to his tongue, it would taste just as sweet; a wide expanse of flawless, caramel skin as far as the eye could see. Iles and iles that could only be traversed by the tread of Vash’s curious fingers. Skimming his index finger from the jut of a shoulder blade and down along Nicholas’ spine, Vash watched in fascination as the sleeping man sighed quietly; A name and a prayer all at once.   
  
_“Vash.”_  
  
If Vash were at all inclined to creating poetry, he would have been able to come up with the words to describe the sudden, cinching in his chest in spades. He would have been able to describe the weight in his throat and the burning itch behind his eyes with flowery prose. But he was not, and whatever words he’d been trying to jam together like ill-fitting puzzle pieces left him completely.


	3. Beauty Mark

_I may not be so manly,_

_But still I know you still love me_

_Even if I don’t have your beauty mark._

 

It had been one of those lazy kinds of days. One of those days where, though it had been hot, it hadn’t been uncomfortable. It was sleepy kind of day, where even the youngsters found themselves stretching out in the shade of wooden porches, to nap in the languorous heat. With the double suns now sinking below the horizon, the sky was painted in shades of orange and red.

On the dusty streets people were moving home, called by dinner bells and the shouts of their family members. Sage old ones seemingly wrinkled as much by the sun as from age sat rocking steadily just outside their front doors. They were snapping beans or peeling potatoes. A few simply watched with keen eyes the people who passed by.  
  
It was from his perch atop a hotel balcony that Nicholas had lazily watched the progression of afternoon into evening. It had, amazingly enough, been quite the peaceful day. Which was nothing other than a small miracle when taking in to consideration just who he was rooming with. But it was a small town, and Vash, having ditched his usual get up for a less conspicuous ensemble, had been behaving himself remarkably well. Or at least that was the assumption Nicholas was running on. Nothing had blown up yet, and that had to count for something.  
  
Taking another drag from the crumpled cigarette clamped between his lips, Nicholas heaved a great, satisfied sigh. This was good. Actually, it was _damned_ good and throwing his arms wide he flopped backward onto the floor of the tiny balcony jutting from his equally tiny hotel room. As an afterthought (Or more likely to prevent himself from spilling ash down his front.) he removed the faintly smoking cigarette from his mouth and ground it into the ashtray that he had brought out with him earlier that afternoon.  
  
The setting suns were warm on his face, and it felt nice. Even the hot breeze that tickled through his hair and toyed at the tails of his open shirt was good. His legs were poking out over the edge of the balcony between the railings and he let them sway idly as he shut his eyes against the spell the heat and suns were casting on him.  
  
How long Nicholas lay there basking he couldn’t have been sure. He supposed he must’ve drifted off because in the next instant there was the weight of someone sitting atop him that hadn’t been there before. Two palms were pressed flat to his bare chest, one cool where the other was not. Popping open one eye and then another, Nicholas peered blinkingly up at the person looming above him. At first all he could make out was a blobby, bright blur of color. But the image slowly began to solidify and Nicholas found himself staring at a familiar shock of corn silk yellow hair.  

The warm set of fingers splayed across his person moved then, traveling upward to administer a somewhat painful flick to the very tip of his nose. Nicholas frowned.

“ _Hey_. What was that for?” He questioned, only to receive another flick for his troubles.

“Felt like it.” Vash replied cheerily, and then repeated the action yet again. Vash was still grinning cheekily above him as Nicholas frowned and batted Vash’s hand away.

“Well don’t. It hurts.” He said with all the agitation he could muster.

But the sun was making Nicolas’ limbs feel heavy and lethargic so the attempt was feeble at best. Vash didn’t flick his nose again though. Instead he was sliding himself down along the length of Nicholas’ body and laying down beside him on the balcony floor. One arm still remained draped across Nicholas’ chest however and it wasn’t long before Vash’s warm fingers began to toy with the buttons on the preacher’s open shirt.  
  
“You looked so peaceful lying there,” Vash said meekly, his voice colored with a measure of quiet reverence and even a touch of guilt. “I didn’t want to wake you but I just had to touch you.”

 Vash’s fingers were beginning to tickle as they moved feather-light across Nicholas’ sun-warmed skin. They were tracing patterns at random that left Nicholas feeling a tickling heat beneath his breastbone. He credited the warmth to Vash’s touch rather than the setting suns and shifted closer. Nick smiled.  
  
“I don’t mind,” He replied with a hearty yawn, then turned his face toward Vash. “So what’ve you been up to all afternoon?”  
  
Vash seemed to shrug beside him. “Mm. Not much. Just wandering.” He replied.  
  
“Sounds like fun.” Nicholas said flatly between another hefty yawn.

At his side Vash gave a good-humored snort as he issued a light cuff to Nick’s arm. “Hey, at least I actually did something unlike _someone_ who’s been just sitting out here all day.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It was a nice day, and I didn’t feel like moving. What’s the big deal?” And when Nicholas was met with comfortable silence in response he gave a little nod to confirm that he had won the argument. “Hmph. Thought so.”

But Nicholas was smiling, and when he turned to peer over at Vash he was pleased to see that the blond was smiling as well. He had since propped himself up on an elbow and was peering down at Nicholas with gleaming blue-green eyes. Again came that tingly, ticklish heated and suddenly Nicholas felt himself reaching upward to finger at a few bits of Vash’s soft, yellow hair with its blackened roots. From there the pad of his thumb moved of its own will to smooth over the distinguishing mark beneath Vash’s left eye. Craning his neck upward then, Nicholas pressed a small kiss the spot.  
  
“Tongari,” He hummed out quietly as he withdrew.

Vash who was still smiling, albeit more demurely, had a faint pinkish hue about his cheeks. Nicholas couldn’t help but to grin. Running his forefinger down the length of Vash’s nose then he gave the very tip of it a sudden flick. Before Vash could even speak though Nick was leaning upward again and nipping playfully at the blond’s lower lip.  
  
“Just felt like it.” He said with a smile.


	4. You Made Me Believe

_You made me believe.  
_

 

 

It was finished. _They_ were finished. Done. Over. _End game_. The dirt held trapped by Vash’s clenched fingers dug into his palm, marking skin despite the protection of Thomas-hide gloves. There was something just so finalizing about covering a man in dirt. But now that it was done, Vash couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d made some sort of terrible mistake. Was it really over? There was a small irrational voice in the back of Vash’s head that said no.

The voice said to dig. _Just dig_. Vash’s fist tightened around loose sand and rock as he shook his head. The grit there marked his forehead just as surely as it marked his palm. There was nothing down there for him anymore. Just a body. A corpse that would dry up and dry out and become the sand he held in his fists. The thatch of untamed, dark hair, the wide expanse of sun darkened skin, storm cloud eyes, agile hands and the hawk-like nose. _Dust_.

Never again would rough fingertips play over naked skin. Nor would that gravelly tenor strain an octave too high as it gasped out suddenly in pleasure. Or burst into peals of untamed, child-like laughter. The curved indentation of navel and jutting hipbones. The feral, reckless grin-- All of it _gone_. Vash couldn’t just---He couldn’t just walk away like that, could he? What if he had made a mistake? What if he’d been wrong?

_What if.._

He was up to his elbows in loose dirt before he realized that in a panic he had frantically begun to dig. With a lurch, he drew himself upright. His hands, that had been moving of their own will, he held clutched tightly to his chest. A detached voice that Vash vaguely recognized as being his own told him that he was starting to scare the others. Only there were no others, it was only the dead man and himself.

How long he sat there trying to regulate the erratic wheezing of his lungs Vash didn’t know. He was staring wildly out into the dunes that surrounded him when hot tears began to well up and spill down his dust-streaked face. Willing to trust the mechanized limb, Vash moved to scrub the wetness away.

“Damn you,” He whispered, though he didn’t quite know to whom he spoke to.

Perhaps Vash was speaking to himself, or maybe even to the dead man. More likely it was to those forces who had conspired to take Nicholas away from him.

“Damn you, damn you. God damn you to hell,” He reiterated bitterly, then paused. God.

_Nicholas’ God._

He had taken Nicholas away just as surely the bullets that had riddled the preacher full of holes had. Vash smashed a fist in to the dirt beneath him, yelling at the body he’d buried in the ground now. As if it were still a living, breathing thing.

“You’re a fucking _liar_ , Nicholas! You LIED to me!” He was roaring now as he flung his fists into the ground. “You lied! You _promised_ you’d come back to me, you said you wouldn’t leave me!”  But for as quickly as Vash’s anger had flared up, it burned out just as swiftly. In its place he was left with a terrifying numbness. Silent and paralyzed by the vast emptiness left by Nicholas’ passing, Vash stared at the ragged canvas of the Cross Punisher as it whipped in the wind.

It was a flag of surrender for them both.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” Vash choked out at length.

But if Vash had been expecting some sort of sign from the heavens that someone listened, that he had been heard, it never came. The finality of it forced a bitter chuckle from his chapped lips. It was over and done. Nicholas was dead.

And Vash, longing to crawl down into the earth with him, could do little more than curse his unnatural long life.


End file.
